


Into this house we're born (Into this world we're thrown)

by zellatron



Series: Wayward Sons [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hero Worship, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-14 10:34:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21014354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zellatron/pseuds/zellatron
Summary: "As he lay in bed during those moments before sleep overtook him, he created a Merle that was just like John Wayne."





	Into this house we're born (Into this world we're thrown)

1986

He came home to find a plywood wall, newly erected, dividing his already small bedroom in two. His bed had been shoved into a foreign corner, his toys and the contents of his missing pine wardrobe piled high on the mattress. A hammer lay unsupervised on the worn carpet surrounded by forgotten nails and a pot of unopened white paint. With the wall where it was he only had half a window, and there was a gap one inch wide between where the wall ended and the single pane glass began. There was barely any room to move. He could make it from the doorway to his bed in four strides and if he stretched out his arms as wide as they would go he would almost be able to touch the external wall and the one that had been put up whilst he was at school.

Peering into the new little room he found nothing more than a low camping bed, a wicker laundry basket and a chest of drawers; there wasn't space for anything else.

Daryl didn't understand why any of it was there but he didn't question the unexpected changes to his bedroom. Instead he tidied his school bag away behind the door and shucked off his too big denim jacket and second hand sneakers. Ma was baking a cake and he wondered whose birthday it was because she only ever baked cakes on special days like birthdays. The smell made his stomach growl. Lunch had been forfeited when Jimmy Tate had decided he preferred Daryl's peanut butter sandwiches to his own tuna on rye, the fourth time he had done so in two weeks; giving Daryl the feeling that it was going to become a regular event.

Jimmy was bigger than Daryl by half a foot despite their matching ages, and not only was he taller he could punch harder too.

Ma bustled passed his room oblivious to her youngest son standing where he was. She was whistling, her hair tightly rolled in curlers, and she was wearing the fire engine red lipstick that was normally saved for nights out with Uncle Kenny. Daryl trailed after her, his socks sliding and catching on the uneven linoleum tiles. For the first time he noticed the multi-coloured streamers hanging from the bodged cornicing, drooping in wonky loops that were precariously tacked into position with brass pins. The open plan kitchen and family room of the Fleetwood single-wide had been hastily cleaned up and decorated. There was an unopened packet of balloons on the counter, sat on top of a neatly folded banner that was alien to him; not the crinkled well-used _Happy Birthday_ one Ma had been using since before he was born. He poked at the shiny paper and made out the first two letters to be 'W' and 'E'. He frowned, thinking hard on what could be happening for so many unexpected changes that afternoon. Ma noticed him then.

"Hey there, baby boy. Didja have a good day at school?" She pressed a kiss into his wild hair and briefly hugged him against her side. Beneath the heavy perfume she wore, the one that made him sneeze, Daryl could smell sherry and cigarettes.

"It was okay." He pinched his nose and willed away the sneeze that threatened to erupt.

"Didja learn anythin' good?"

"Not really."

She smiled the same whimsical, indulgent smile she always wore when talking to him. As if she were half-pretending to listen, finding something in her head more interesting than what it was he had to say. Ma moved away and pulled the cake from the oven, resting it on a cooling rack next to the sink.

"Who's that for?" Daryl asked, staring at the warm sponge unable to rein back his curiosity.

Ma hesitated for the shortest of moments before spinning around towards him and crouching down at his height, her hands tightly gripping his thin shoulders. She was grinning widely, and not for the first time Daryl noticed the deep and premature wrinkles carved into her face that aged her ten years. She was wearing more make up than ever - intent on bringing some colour into her wan complexion. It left her looking strange to him, almost clownish. The rouge emphasised her hollow cheeks and sharp features whilst the foundation powder turned her freckles invisible. The blue eye shadow and thick mascara transformed her eyelashes into the long legs of an exotic turquoise spider and she fluttered them coquettishly.

The fear he'd had at being told off for interfering in business that didn't concern him evaporated at her queer behaviour.

"Oh baby, have I got the best surprise for you!" She did a little on-the-spot dance more suited to a girl of his age than a woman of forty. Her excitement was contagious. Daryl felt anticipation bloom inside of him. "Guess who's comin' home?"

"Who?"

"You've gotta guess, Daryl! Ain't no fun if I tell you!"

He paused and bit his lip. His Pa wasn't due home until after Thanksgiving, a good seven months off, and Uncle Kenny hadn't been away long enough to warrant any kind of party on his return. Ma was antsy, desperate for him to give her the right answer. She gave up waiting for him to catch on, blurting out the answer so fast it took a minute or two for what she said to sink in.

"Merle of course! Your brother's comin' home today!"

Merle. Daryl barely remembered him beyond the framed photographs that littered the trailer and the regular mentions made by Ma. The anticipation and excitement he felt increased. Whilst he didn't know the first thing about his brother beyond that Merle had joined the Marines when Daryl was nothing more than a toddler, he knew that Ma worshipped the earth her first child walked on. Why exactly, he couldn't say, but when she talked about Merle her eyes lit up in a way that they never did otherwise. Ma straightened and busied herself with wiping down the counter tops.

"Y'all be sharin' your room now, so be on your best behaviour when your brother's about. That wall Mister Miller put up don't mean you can slack off. No more messiness, no more bad dreams. Y'hear me, Daryl?"

He nodded obediently, watching as she swept up flour and tidied the bills she wouldn't bother to open until Uncle Kenny did the household accounts.

"Tell me you promise."

"I promise, Ma."

"Good boy," she dumped the blue check dishcloth and straightened out her apron. "Now help me blow up these balloons, we'll tie 'em up outside on the porch railin's. He won't get here 'til six-thirty so we've got plenty of time. And I want you to put your best shirt on, so he thinks he's got a smart boy for a brother."

They spent the next hour blowing up balloons with a hand pump Ma found under the kitchen sink, writing "welcome home Merle" on the squeaking rubber with a permanent marker bought especially for the occasion. They ate a cold dinner, Ma pushing her food about the plate in distraction, telling Daryl stories of when Merle was a little boy; and when they were finished he washed his face and changed into his blue cotton shirt - fumbling with the buttons as he watched his battered old Superman alarm clock count down the time remaining before Merle's arrival. In her room, Ma hummed as she picked out a dress, happier than she had been in a while.

It was like Christmas, only better.

Dandelions clustered around the base of the porch steps, their yellow florets slowly ripening. Blowing on them was for babies so instead Daryl kicked and flicked them when the pappi turned silver and watched the fruits disperse in explosive clouds. But not that night, that night he sat quietly, digging the toes of his sneakers into the bare earth turning the grimy white leather a pale red. There were shallow canyons shaped like crescent moons from where he dragged his toes and heels across the compacted ground, following the path of his feet with a stick to make them deeper.

It was long past six-thirty and Merle still hadn't shown up. Ma was spitting feathers and working her way though the rest of the sherry. Daryl had retreated outside to save himself from getting shouted at again. At least this time she hadn't thrown anything at him, he counted his blessings that she had been too busy ripping down the streamers to do anything more than yell.

The sky was dusky orange. The day coming to a quick end. The air was beginning to cool but he didn't move to go inside. He could hear old Patti Royce's lapdogs barking further down the row, and that the new folks in the trailer opposite were watching a kung fu movie. Birds chirruped in the tree tops, settling down for the night, and the sphere-topped street lamp situated next to his family home flickered to life.

Daryl watched the road. It meandered through the trailer park like a black river, smooth and solid onyx that glistened and burned shoe-less feet when the sun baked it - turning to slippery ice in rare winter storms. There was nothing on it other than a group of children trailing circles on their bicycles and scooters, sometimes whizzing past his home without a thought to look in his direction. The road system ran one-way and counter-clockwise, Daryl would see a truck or a taxi coming from where he sat. When Merle arrived he'd be able to shout to Ma, although really it was Merle who would be in need of forewarning, not her.

Daryl sat on the bottom stoop, chin resting on the heel of his right hand, and waited.

He was in bed by the time Merle finally did arrive, and the argument between Ma and his brother woke him up. Daryl wrapped his pillow around his head and curled into the wall, fighting back the temptation to sneak out into the hallway and get his first glimpse of his brother in seven years.

Ma was hollering fiercely and Daryl didn't need to remove the pillow to hear what she said. It was always the same with Ma, and Daryl had learned how to predict what she would say and do before it happened. But that didn't make it any less hurtful, it didn't make every tantrum and fit of anger any less potent. Merle didn't know how to handle her but from the sounds of it he was holding up better than Uncle Kenny ever did.

Uncle Kenny usually smacked her good by this point. So did Pa.

Instead Merle laughed. A drunken, near-about hysterical noise that croaked and hooted between amused swears of his own. They were rebuttals that eventually drove Ma to her room, the flimsy door slamming behind her. There wasn't silence like there was when Ma fought with the other men in her life, but the quiet chortling of Merle and the clink and hiss of a beer bottle being opened. Daryl let his pillow fall away from his head and stared up at the ceiling as he listened carefully. He could hear Ma crying and cursing through the thin wall that separated their bedrooms but could hear nothing more of Merle.

Daryl's imagination had gone into warp drive since he found out his brother was due home. As he lay in bed during those moments before sleep overtook him, he created a Merle that was just like John Wayne in _The Cowboys_. He was creeping out of bed before he realised it, slowly pushing his covers back and slipping down onto the threadbare carpet, cautious not to alert Ma to what he was doing.

Every breath he took sounded ten times louder to his ears than they actually were. Beneath his pyjama top his heart pounded. The floor threatened to creak beneath him.

The bedroom door flew open, flooding the small room with light and freezing Daryl where he stood. The hulking, shadowed figure of Merle filled the doorway; tall and broad shouldered, he faltered just as the wide eyed Daryl had. The boy gulped, taking in the back-lit dark blond buzz cut and muscular arms shown off by a sleeveless denim work shirt. Merle swayed and staggered backward, catching himself on the door frame as he acknowledged Daryl and leered down at him. He had the same blue eyes as the younger Dixon sibling, but they were small and deep-set in a strong, hard face a lot like their father's. Daryl felt small under Merle's gaze, like a baby rabbit catching sight of a hunting dog for the first time. Suddenly he wanted to be hidden beneath his bed sheets and not stood in front of his brother in his nightwear like a little sissy girl. As first meetings went he wished he could have a do-over. He felt stupid. Heat flamed in his cheeks and he ducked his eyes, fidgeting restlessly where he stood. He knew he should say something but couldn't think of anything clever.

Merle continued to do nothing more than stare at him, head cocked to one side, still swaying on his feet. His eyes were glassy with drink, his complexion ruddy, and his face quirked in an ambiguous expression that Daryl couldn't name. All he could think about was how big Merle was. In the shadowy light of the bedroom he could have almost been John Rambo, out for justice against Jimmy Tate and the other boys at school who picked on Daryl at every chance they got. They would be so jealous when they saw Merle and they'd never go near Daryl again, not if they had any sense. At this thought he offered his big brother a tentative smile, edging towards him on shuffling feet.

Merle licked his chapped lips and bared his teeth in a feral grin, looping his thumbs around the over-sized and ornate pewter belt buckle he wore. A low, growl of a chuckle rumbled through his chest, and as the light hit his pale eyes, Daryl saw something glinting in them that he couldn't name.

"Well now," Merle cleared his throat, stepping into the bedroom proper; his boots clomping loudly. "If it ain't my little brother."

**Author's Note:**

> I first published this on FFN back in 2012 as the beginnings of a multi-chapter Dixon bro's backstory fic. I wasn't able to finish it back then but I'm hoping to pick it back up now. This time however I'm posting it as a series of one shots instead. Small edits to grammar have been made for this upload.
> 
> *Title comes from Riders on the Storm by The Doors


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